Letting Go Of A Perfect Day
Flight is what I think of when I see my dog galloping through the carpet of of fallen leaves in the hazelnut orchard near our house. Like I'm seeing a spirit nearly take off, leave all connection to earth behind in pursuit of heavenly scents. Her muscles are so fine, so dense, and when she leaps she shimmers with beautiful design.
This is the end of a perfect day. You have no idea how many superstitions I am braving by saying that out loud. There is not a single second of it that I would change. I hope to god that the people who have diligently kept track of this life log have observed the change in tenor that it has taken over the past few months? For people like me there will always be an element of dark in the days, a generous portion of agony and rock throwing. Fact of my life. Yet it is most decidedly true that the last few years have been colored by deep obscurity of rhythm, of light, and of path. So I am in a position to particularly notice when a day is perfect.
I am falling into pace.
This morning started with a family snuggle. We all woke up late for getting the kid to school but we still took the time to snuggle up and have a good morning. Then I settled into reading my messages, checking my flickr friends out (a morning ritual), and then getting happily stuck in facebook land connecting with old friends.
Philip is going to visit with a lot of loved old friends of his tonight- flying to California (paid for by these same friends because he couldn't afford to go- how unbelievably sweet is that?!) and I am so happy he is getting a chance to cut loose and take a little breather from us people who need him and love him so much. He gets few breaks and deserves so much. Normally, I would not count a day as perfect with my love flying away from me- it's just that I am so happy he is getting to do something just for himself- it counts as perfect.
Then there's the storms. Weather is here! All day it has been raining hard, then completely clearing up for five minutes- with blue sky and brief appearance of bright sun- then turning black again with some gusts of wind. Not the extreme wind that was predicted, but enough to push a little at these old windows. Talk of snow on Sunday...feel like a school kid anticipating the excitement of having to stay inside next to the kitchen stove or wrap up in a thousand layers of pungent wool to keep the frost from biting skin.
I put things away. I paid some bills. We've been receiving a lot of final notices lately. I have put quite a few to rest. I actually saw the bottom of my laundry hamper. I swear to you that it has been three years since I have gotten completely to the bottom of it!
I ate soup. I vacuumed. I folded (and put away) clothes. Last Friday I did some cleaning too. It's starting to feel like there's sense to this life, order, and consistence. My house feels warm, it feels calmer, it feels almost functional: where everything has a place and is in it. It's starting to feel like I don't need to apologize for the state of chaos as people enter into it.
My kid came home soaked but, like me, doesn't mind being soaked if it means entering into a cozy home with light, warmth, and dry clothes. He watched Pokemon while I worked on my sewing room.
Sewing room, writing room, crafting room, thinking room...my room. How lucky is it in this life to have one's own room? I realize how fortunate I am and today, taming the frightening mess, I was able to value it fresh. This is a room in which I can bat the demons back to hell. In which I can write whatever it is that needs writing. Make what needs making. Here is my magic lair, like Merlin's crystal cave.
Today I can see the floor in here. I haven't seen it for a couple months. You saw the pictures, you know I'm not lying! I made enough progress today that I almost feel myself unfolding again. I can almost feel my hands fashioning curtains out of all this fabric I have. Curtains for the windows of this old house, through which I watch storms unfurl themselves. Through which I will one day see roses opening and vegetables reaching obscene height.
I am an active participant in my own healing, but it cannot be denied that in life there is a lot that is out of our control. I have been trying to heal for so long and it has felt like trying to push out of a grave of dirt.
I am a spiritual person, though I do not believe in God or Jesus (is there anyone left who doesn't know this?) but those of us who find our spirituality in the stars, in the soil, and in the design of nature are not exempt from our own kind of prayer.
Let it be this. Let it be now.
My season is here.
Four old friends have suddenly buoyed me up and they need to know how much it makes me happy! I am afraid for all of you to see me now. I feel some shame. But I am coming to know that it isn't my body or my face that you find friendship in, but in my spirit. My spirit is ever the same. Thank you for coming back to me Chelsea, Sharon, Carrie, and Autumn. Again, and again. Somehow it makes me feel like all is right with the world when I hear from you. When you count me among your own.
Winter is a time of rebirth and joy for me. It is, in fact, when I was born. It is the hour when I shine the most, like a snow bird. Perhaps that is the real reason I am covered so thoroughly in my own down*. I become completely alert and alive in the cold, the hail, rain, dark, close days. It's why I travel almost exclusively in winter. I want the icicles, the frigid air, the pelting rain. I think I see into the soul of the world in winter.
Now it is time to let go of a perfect day.
I know that the universe can drop bombs on us at any time. I'm used to that. But I think it's alright to enjoy this minute without asking for the evil eye to perch itself in my mirror? I don't know what tomorrow will bring, which is why it's so hard to move on from here. The temptation to believe that if I write from here to eternity that nothing will change is strong.
I think one of my innermost beliefs is that if I keep writing I can make magic last forever.
I hope you all had a perfect day too.
*Unpoetic reference to my hairy self.
Philip is going to visit with a lot of loved old friends of his tonight- flying to California (paid for by these same friends because he couldn't afford to go- how unbelievably sweet is that?!) and I am so happy he is getting a chance to cut loose and take a little breather from us people who need him and love him so much. He gets few breaks and deserves so much. Normally, I would not count a day as perfect with my love flying away from me- it's just that I am so happy he is getting to do something just for himself- it counts as perfect.
Then there's the storms. Weather is here! All day it has been raining hard, then completely clearing up for five minutes- with blue sky and brief appearance of bright sun- then turning black again with some gusts of wind. Not the extreme wind that was predicted, but enough to push a little at these old windows. Talk of snow on Sunday...feel like a school kid anticipating the excitement of having to stay inside next to the kitchen stove or wrap up in a thousand layers of pungent wool to keep the frost from biting skin.
I put things away. I paid some bills. We've been receiving a lot of final notices lately. I have put quite a few to rest. I actually saw the bottom of my laundry hamper. I swear to you that it has been three years since I have gotten completely to the bottom of it!
I ate soup. I vacuumed. I folded (and put away) clothes. Last Friday I did some cleaning too. It's starting to feel like there's sense to this life, order, and consistence. My house feels warm, it feels calmer, it feels almost functional: where everything has a place and is in it. It's starting to feel like I don't need to apologize for the state of chaos as people enter into it.
My kid came home soaked but, like me, doesn't mind being soaked if it means entering into a cozy home with light, warmth, and dry clothes. He watched Pokemon while I worked on my sewing room.
Sewing room, writing room, crafting room, thinking room...my room. How lucky is it in this life to have one's own room? I realize how fortunate I am and today, taming the frightening mess, I was able to value it fresh. This is a room in which I can bat the demons back to hell. In which I can write whatever it is that needs writing. Make what needs making. Here is my magic lair, like Merlin's crystal cave.
Today I can see the floor in here. I haven't seen it for a couple months. You saw the pictures, you know I'm not lying! I made enough progress today that I almost feel myself unfolding again. I can almost feel my hands fashioning curtains out of all this fabric I have. Curtains for the windows of this old house, through which I watch storms unfurl themselves. Through which I will one day see roses opening and vegetables reaching obscene height.
I am an active participant in my own healing, but it cannot be denied that in life there is a lot that is out of our control. I have been trying to heal for so long and it has felt like trying to push out of a grave of dirt.
I am a spiritual person, though I do not believe in God or Jesus (is there anyone left who doesn't know this?) but those of us who find our spirituality in the stars, in the soil, and in the design of nature are not exempt from our own kind of prayer.
Let it be this. Let it be now.
My season is here.
Four old friends have suddenly buoyed me up and they need to know how much it makes me happy! I am afraid for all of you to see me now. I feel some shame. But I am coming to know that it isn't my body or my face that you find friendship in, but in my spirit. My spirit is ever the same. Thank you for coming back to me Chelsea, Sharon, Carrie, and Autumn. Again, and again. Somehow it makes me feel like all is right with the world when I hear from you. When you count me among your own.
Winter is a time of rebirth and joy for me. It is, in fact, when I was born. It is the hour when I shine the most, like a snow bird. Perhaps that is the real reason I am covered so thoroughly in my own down*. I become completely alert and alive in the cold, the hail, rain, dark, close days. It's why I travel almost exclusively in winter. I want the icicles, the frigid air, the pelting rain. I think I see into the soul of the world in winter.
Now it is time to let go of a perfect day.
I know that the universe can drop bombs on us at any time. I'm used to that. But I think it's alright to enjoy this minute without asking for the evil eye to perch itself in my mirror? I don't know what tomorrow will bring, which is why it's so hard to move on from here. The temptation to believe that if I write from here to eternity that nothing will change is strong.
I think one of my innermost beliefs is that if I keep writing I can make magic last forever.
I hope you all had a perfect day too.
*Unpoetic reference to my hairy self.